To Save a Life
by ScarletCougar
Summary: In the midst of betrayals, Carver finds both solace and reason... but not without a storm of challenges. This is an OC X Carver fanfic where I play in both Bioware's Sandbox and psikitty's. I thank psikitty for her permission and apologize to Bioware. I own nothing but my OC and warn you all that this is boy-love, read at your own risk.
1. Pologue

**Prologue: All things come to an end…**

All things come to an end. Father has always said so. He also said freedom was being able to choose how. He chose to protect the River Dalish from becoming slaves to the Tevinter magisters. That was twelve years ago. He left behind a wife and three sons, aged 23, 14, and 13.

All things come to an end. Mother said so. She also said that the best we can do is die with dignity. The eldest brother didn't die thus despite his capacity the live life with the passion one can only live when they know their next breath might be their last. That was two years after father left. Five years later, mother went to heal in a village locked up under quarantine. Tevinter Magisters reduced it to ash a week later, with her in it while teen brothers watched in horror from a hill.

All things come to an end. They dreamed of the heroism of Wardens. They dreamed of being famous healer and warrior. They dreamed of finding treasure and wealth from ruins and caves and traveling the world. They dreamed of fighting darkspawn and saving the world. They were more one brother's dreams than the other. Those came to an end too with that older brother.

Sweat and smoke stung the young healer's eyes. All things come to an end. Those dreams ended with the gasping breaths of his brother. Magic served no one any good in the end. It didn't save his father or the Dalish. It didn't save the eldest brother's life. It didn't save a village under plague. It in fact obliterated it with his mother. And it didn't save this brother, either. He set the torch to the thatched roof, then the wooden shed that held the drying herbs for the healing potions, and then to the autumn wilting gardens.

All things come to an end. Freedom is the ability to choose how. All one can do is to die with dignity. He shouldered his pack and his bow. He never wanted to really be a hero, never wanted to fight anyone's fights, never wanted to be anything more than a healer. But he could not stay here any longer. Tevinter magisters would only come again, would only ruin more dreams. His dreams were gone now with everything he loved and cared about. If he could not live his own dreams, then maybe he could try to live the dreams of the brother he begged to stay home.

_My end will be the same as my brothers. I have the freedom to choose how that end will be and for them… for me… die with dignity in the short time that I have left._

He touched the medallion his father gave him and turned his back from his former life. Facing south, he walked. Antiva was that direction and so was Ansburg Wardens Keep. He had no idea how far, nor did he really care. The cold and numbness from what recently happened started to sink in. All he thought about was one foot in front of the other. Then one small question after another once he crossed the border from Tevinter into Antiva. Till at last he stood at the gates of the Ansburg Warden's Keep, nestled on the north of the Free Marches, just above Starkhaven, just below Tevinter, and between Antiva and Orlais.

A Warden called down from the tower above the gate, "You there, archer. Why are you here?"

"I have come to join the Wardens," he called up. There was no turning back now. The gates opened and he was let in.


	2. Chapter 1: Shuffled On

**Chapter 1: Shuffled On**

Warden-Commander Finneghan reviewed the request from the stranger that showed up literally on the Keep's doorstep. Someone from Tevinter of all places was asking to join the Wardens. After a recent betrayal by someone from Tevinter who had joined a year ago and nearly destroyed the integrity of the Wardens here just last month, he had no interest in repeating the experience. Then again, no self-respecting Tevinter spy would be stupid enough to show up so soon, nor openly announce he was from Tevinter. He'd likely be shot on sight. An archer stood inside the door with an arrow aimed at the stranger and just waiting for the command to kill.

"Tell me again, why you are here," he asked warily.

The accent was hard to understand and the healer assumed the Warden-Commander must be from Starkhaven. He was adequately fluent in Orlesian and Antivan and Dailish, but not the dialects of the Free Marches. Fereldan Trade Common was a language he was struggling with but slowly picking up. "I want to join the Wardens. I wish to die with dignity, bow in hand, fighting darkspawn."

Finneghan explained the recent catastrophe with Tevinter and asked why he should allow this man to join.

"I… I have no answer for you. I am not a magister. I have no plans to… do… anything." He didn't this was his only plan and he had no idea what he would with himself if it failed. "I am running from the magisters. They… have destroyed much in my life." He removed the band of cloth from around his brow. It once belonged to his elder brother and was being used to hide the slight point to his ears. Of three sons, he was the only one to bear any of his father half-elven heritage. "I know some healing. I can craft potions. And I can shoot." His eyes searched the tiled floor as he searched in his mind for more to say. "I… have nothing to go back to and no idea where to go from here," he spoke softly and honestly.

Finneghan watched the young man before him, listened to the shake in his voice, and regarded the attempt to hide the emotions of floundering. He huffed. He was getting too soft. He made some strange hand gesture and the archer by the door lowered his bow. "Alright, archer. I will accept your request for membership. Your ceremony of Joining will be at dawn. However, we have too many archers already and some decent herbalists aplenty. If you were good with a blade, I would keep you. So after the Joining, I am sending you off to Weisshaupt to the First Warden. I am ill equipped to sort out if you can be trusted. Understand, Tevinter is no friend to any of us and you have a great deal to prove. He will know what to do with you."

Archer. So that was to be his name. An archer among a plethora of archers. He supposed Archer was as good a name as any. Better no one get too attached to him. Better he not get too attached to anyone. He followed a Warden out to a room where he could wash up, then to a room where he could sleep the night. A meal was brought to him. There was no mistaking the feeling of being unwanted. He tried hard to not let that affect him. However, as he curled up to sleep, the ache hit gut deep.

At dawn he was woken and escorted to a room in which nine wardens stood. In the center was a stone table. It looked like an altar with a large ornate chalice upon it. Three other new recruits were there. Each were asked a series of questions and told to drink from the chalice.

Finneghan recited by heart, "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."

The first set the chalice back down and staggered from the altar. She fainted to rouse only a few moments later as one of the Wardens helped her to sit on a nearby bench. The second coughed and choked some on the liquid and bolted for the nearest wall where he vomited. The third tried to ask about the contents and was told that some things will not be revealed till after the Joining, but he can know that he was drinking liquid tainted by darkspawn blood, _so as to always be aware of the presense of the darkspawn in order to fight them better._ He drank nervously. Someone had to grab the chalice as the man dropped to the floor screaming and curling in on himself in agony. He passed out. A warden declared he still lived and Finneghan nodded with relief.

Archer was the last of the new recruits. Finneghan bade him approach. "Archer, are you certain you wish to become a Warden?"

"Yes."

Archer stopped where he was indicated to. "Archer, do you understand that there is no leaving the Wardens except through death?"

"I do."

"Are you ready to die fighting the darkspawn and protecting the world against their taint and the potentials of a Blight?" Finneghan asked the last of his questions.

Archer looked up and Finneghan could not doubt the conviction in those eyes, "To my last breath."

"So be it. Drink from the chalice."

Archer looked into the chalice at the swirling red liquid. "If I should die before I wake, I pray the Maker my soul to take." Not that he really believed in the Maker anymore, but he understood that drinking this could mean death. He tipped the chalice and swallowed the remaining contents in a huge gulp, slamming the cup onto the altar as the Wardens exclaimed.

"Merde!" one swore. "Il a tout bu!"

Another looked into the chalice, "Holy Andraste's cunt! He really did drink it all! He is fucking crazy!" another Warden laughed.

Archer gripped the edge of the altar trying to breathe, trying to stay focused, his vision kept blurring and the sounds around him echoed in and out of clarity. He shut his eyes tight and counted each breath. When he opened his eyes again, he was in the room he had slept in the night before. A warden was sitting on a shoot beside the bed, "Ah bon! Vous êtes éveillé." Archer understood. The man was glad he was awake. Archer was guided to a large room where dinner was served.

Had he been out that long? He didn't remember passing out. At the smell of food, he became ravenous. All four recruits were. The others three were staying at the keep. Two were mages and one carried a short sword at his hip. Each came to the Warden-Commander's office for their first orders or instructions. Archer already knew his, but entered as commanded.

"You did well, Archer. I am glad you survived. Not everyone survives the Joining. If we told people that in advance, we would never get recruits."

"I would have joined anyways," explained Archer.

Finneghan nodded, "I believe you." He pushed forward a map. "Here, these are directions and passport papers for your travel to Weisshaupt. You leave in the morning. I will be sending you with a satchel of reports and messages for the First Warden. Welcome to the Order of the Grey Wardens. In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice. Say it."

"En la guerra, victoria. En la paz, vigilancia. En la muerte, sacrificio." Archer spoke Antivan for this to show he understood in all the languages he could speak.

"Good. When you travel, do not speak Tevinter or Arcanum. It will get you killed Warden or not. Your grasp of Trade Common is decent. Try to stick to that. When you get to the Anderfels, travel swiftly. Stay in uniform. It will grant you free passage, earn you a mount when you need it, and room and board at inns. See me in the morning. Dismissed."

Archer left, feeling a little shell shocked. His head still spinning a little from what he had just committed to. No looking back. No… no looking back. He could not face or deal with his past. It hurt too much. He had to keep looking forward.

In the morning, he was shuffled on with supplies and the satchel. A message by bird had been sent as well to Weisshaupt so the First Warden would know to expect Archer. Archer thought his first mission would be killing darkspawn somewhere. But no, it was to be a messenger and to deliver… himself.

He traveled alone. Through Starkhaven and over to Nevarra where he caught a ship. Then to Kirkwall where he caught a second ship to a small port on the border of Fereldan and the Anderfels. The weather was already starting to shift to winter here. His breath puffed in clouds in the chill air. He acquired a horse and travelled through the Anderfels mountainous terrain. Trade Common was only barely understood here where the people spoke their own language and did not favor strangers much at all. Hard people for a hard land.

One step in front of the other. His world had once again narrowed to that in a strange madness he felt he was falling prey to. Every day had grown worse. He wasn't sure if he could manage another day after a whole two weeks of traveling. He had to walk his horse the last six hours through snow to the doors of Weisshaupt where he pounded with a gloved hand.

* * *

A/N

"Merde!" one swore. "Il a tout bu!"  
_"Shit!" one swore. "He drank it all!"_ (French/Orlesian)

"Ah bon! Vous êtes éveillé."  
_"Oh good! You are awake."_ (French/Orlesian)

"En la guerra, victoria. En la paz, vigilancia. En la muerte, sacrificio."  
_"In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice. Say it." _(Spanish/Antivan)


	3. Chapter 2: Testing the Waters

**Chapter 2: Testing the Water**

A warden peered down from a tower above and yelled something in a foreign language to someone who opened the gate. More Wardens met Archer there, all speaking the Slavic language of the Anderfels. Archer had slept so poorly for weeks and was freezing and hungry and too tired to even think, let alone try to translate into a language any of them might grasp.

One seemed to at least realize this. "You… Warden… from where?" he asked in broken Fereldan.

That he understood. "Ansburg."

He was escorted to someone who looked him up and down and handed him a bundle. Warm dry, clean clothing in the grey and blue of the Warden uniform. Then he was shuffled through the halls and corridors as his guide called out to people. Someone ran off in one direction. Another ran off in another. Archer stopped caring an hour ago, maybe even a week ago. The guide opened a door to a room with a fireplace, a trunk, and a bed. There was a basin set in the wall with a pump.

"Change. Clean. Food soon. Then First Warden."

Archer nodded to the instructions. Even if they were in his dialect of farmer Tevinter, they would need to have been that simple at this point. He dropped gear beside the trunk: loaded pack and travel gear, satchel of reports and messages, his bow and quiver of arrows. Then he stripped off winter layers, armor, and finally his clothing. He stood by the fire crackling in the fireplace for a few moments allowing himself to adjust to the heat he had almost forgotten existed in the world. His home and the surrounding areas got snow, but never for very long and never this cold, and NEVER this much!

He shook his head trying to dislodge the incessant noise. That never seemed to work before. Why would it work now? The stones were even warm under his bare feet as he walked to the basin and experimented with the water pump. It pumped slightly warm water into the basin, but the water drained instantly down a hole at the bottom. First he panicked that it might have leaked all over the floor. After looking under the basin that jutted from the wall, he saw there was some pipe that went from the hole down into the wall. He had never seen anything like this. It took him several more minutes of experimenting before he discovered how to plug the hole and fill the basin. He washed himself and changed into the clean clothing.

Someone arrived with a plate of food while Archer was meticulously cleaning his gear, clothes and armor and organizing it in very precise order.

"OCD much?" asked the intruder who sauntered in with the grace of a dancer.

Archer looked up baffled, uncertain if the man spoke Fereldan or some other foreign language.

"Nevermind. I understand you do not speak the hairball language of the Anderfels." This elf was not dressed like a Warden but seemed friendly enough. He set the food tray on top of the basin. "I am already sorry it took me so long to arrive with food. I missed seeing your beautiful body as you washed."

Archer chose to keep his mouth shut because this made altogether no sense to him. He deciphered the words, but was sure he did not understand.

"My name is Zevran. I believe you are Archer. Not very original, but I guess I should be used to this. We have Anders and Carver." He smiled broadly. "Come eat. I will escort u after to my Warden, the First Warden. You may call him First Warden Aeden until he says otherwise." Zevran sat himself on Archer's bed and watched the young man make his way to food, his hunger overpowering everything else now that he could smell it. The young man ate without regarding Zevran at all for the time being. It allowed Zevran to make his first evaluations of the new arrival at Weisshaupt.

This Archer was an archer. That part was obvious. He understood Fereldan, though perhaps not as well as Zevran thought he would. Zevran considered using other languages but would wait till his orders were clearer. The young man could not be more than maybe twenty-two or twenty-five. He seemed very particular about cleanliness and order, something some nobles were known for, or healers. However, the young man carried himself like someone fresh from some backwater village that never saw much snow and never had any need or desire to travel.

What interested Zevran more were the unconscious expressions and body language. Archer looked… lost, shy, confused. He seemed beyond exhausted, haunted, troubled. There were odd twitches like he was mentally unstable. His face was like an open book, but was that contrived or natural? Was he lying or hiding something? Or was he genuine?

Archer finished his meal and turned to Zevran. "Sorry. I… I am ready."

So, Archer spoke Fereldan, heavily accented with… Tevinter. Not Arcanum and not Tevinter noble, this was too common like the accent of the common folk or those of the harvest villages. Harvest villages were places where the people lived in pretend freedom, and paid a tithe in slaves from the village populous. The newcomer's tone did not convince Zevran that Archer was ready. He stood anyways and trailed a finger along the slight point of Archer's ear. Maybe Archer was a run-away. So many questions. Zevran smiled to himself as he led the way out of the room. He had a whole new project now to occupy him until their mission to Arlathan could get under way.

Zevran listened to the slight drag of the feet of the young man following behind him. Archer was trying very hard to keep up and to not look or sound like he was ready to drop. Zevran figured Archer would collapse from exhaustion before this night was out. He was sure of it. This meeting was going to be harrowing. He smirked at his play on words. Anders would not be impressed.

To Archer's credit, or to his foolishness, he had left his armor and weapons in the room. Zevran concluded that wither the boy was stupid or too trusting… or had unseen weapons. Maybe his play on words of harrowing was not far from the truth? Maybe Archer was a mage? Then why the bow? More questions to consider for later.

As they walked through the corridors, Zevran spoke casually, asking about Archer's journey from Ansburg and how people at Ansburg were. This he did sliding smoothly from one language to another. Sometimes he totally lost Archer with Anderfels dialect. But Archer was able to keep up, though tiredly, with the Orlesian and the Antivan. In some ways it was monotonous and Archer no longer even noticed the shift from language to language. When Zevran then threw in Tevinter, Archer automatically answered without thinking.

Zevran stopped; all friendliness vanished as he whipped around. His blade pressed to Archer's throat. "Tevinter?"

Archer was beyond caring at this point. So in Dalish he spat with frustration, "By the Dread Wolf fucking the Creator be damned Sacred Tree!"

Both of Zevran's eyebrows flew up. He eased a step away from Archer. "That was… colorful... and explicit."

Archer blushed with embarrassment for having cursed so rudely, then tried to cover, "Not really. I could have described the décor of the tree and the size of his penis… Are you done testing my language skills? Seriously. Yes, I am from Tevinter. I will even show you the village on the map, though I doubt there is much there since the magisters have been wiping out the Dalish elves and then each small village as they collect mass amounts of slaves, of which I had no intention of becoming." Archer rubbed his temple. "Look, I am tired. Fucking tired. Either let's get this meeting over with, or kill me now. I want some sleep."

Zevran resheathed his knife. "You are good with languages. Terrible with Gaelic and worse with Anderfels. Also, people from Tevinter are not welcome here."

"I thought the Wardens did not care where you came from or what you had done, even if you were some horrible criminal, so long as you were skilled and willing to die fighting darkspawn."

Zevran tapped a finger on his lower lip and had to concede, "Yes, generally. But Weisshaupt suffered very badly, very recently, at the hands of Teviner blood mages that had snuck in among the ranks."

"I'm… sorry."

"You arrive at a bad time, Archer." Behind a great set of double doors, yelling could be heard from many people. They entered Aeden's office. If Archer hadn't felt culture shock before, he sure felt it now, along with feeling like walked smack into the middle of something very ugly.


	4. Chapter 3: The Harrowing Middle

**Chapter 3: The Harrowing Middle**

"You arrive at a bad time, Archer." Behind a great set of double doors, yelling could be heard from many people. They entered Aeden's office. If Archer hadn't felt culture shock before, he sure felt it now, along with feeling like he walked smack into the middle of something very ugly.

Several very tall, or at least compared to Archer they were tall, Anderfels Wardens parted from the doorway to allow Zevran and Archer through. On Archer's right were a three wardens, one a red-bearded and very loud dwarf, and a young but equally loud Templar. They were arguing about some mirror thing and some mage that was the Templar's charge. On Archer's left was a mage Warden yelling back at the Templar while a dark-skinned elf tattooed with white lines held him back. Another Warden, and archer tried to reason the right of Joining for the sweet looking elf behind him. That elf looked like a mage and she clung with laced fingers in the hand of another mage Warden. The words blood mage snapped out from the right and then the back of the room with the Anderfels Wardens erupted in a fury of guttural yelling.

The First Warden listened, waiting for them all to get their words and anger out of their systems. Zevran sauntered over to the huge oak desk and sat casually on the side to murmur to the First Warden. He set down the satchel, but held out a single letter. The First Warden broke the seal and read it, ignoring the cacophony in his office. He set down the letter and stared hard at Archer. Then his gaze swept like an inferno over everyone else. His hand slammed on the desk and his voice boomed to shake the stones, "SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Silence fells so suddenly Archer thought he went momentarily deaf and shook his head, but the infernal whispering was still there in his mind.

Aeden spoke loudly and gave no room for argument with his decisions. "Merrill is ours, Carver. There is no more discussion on it. She's been through the Joining. She's one of my Wardens now. We will keep an eye on her for blood magic and your other concerns. The Eluvian Mirror is necessary to reach Arlathan and find out what Tevinter wants there and to hopefully make sure they never get there to get it. You are now just a guest here till the snows are gone. In the spring, you go back to Kirkwall's Templars. You can either be useful here or stay out of the way, boy."

The First Warden turned commanding eyes from the Templar to the mage Warden being held back by the tattooed elf. "Anders, settle down. You know better than to be riled by Templars under my roof. Christopher, take Merrill out of here. Since you want to be so involved with her, you will share her fate of she turns to blood magic to doom us. She is your responsibility now." The mage hand-locked with the cute elven girl nodded with a pained wince for his fate and lead her out of the office.

The room erupted once again mostly from the Anderfels Wardens. Archer wobbled a little on his feet and cursed, "Festa vass." He didn't know what was going on or why and at what point in this chaos he came in. Apparently after cursing in Tevinter, he declared himself the target. One of the tall Wardens from behind him roared out something unintelligible and drew blade to stroke Archer down. A hand shoved Archer to the floor as the sword clanged harshly upon a Templar shield. Aeden's voice boomed out again banishing everyone from the room. Everyone except Zevran, Carver, Anders, someone named Fenris and someone else named Nate. Archer remained curled on the floor, arms over his face to protect it, trying to be as small as he could and hide under the shield.

Zevran smiles and murmured mostly to himself, though Aeden heard, as did Fenris with his keen elven hearing, "Well, that is interesting…"

"Not now, Zevran," grumbled the First Warden. "Carver, get him on his feet." He looked down at the letter and back up at Archer. "Tevinter. They send me someone from Tevinter." He sighed heavily. "The letter says you are an Archer, that you know potion making and some healing, but that it all has yet to be proven. I don't know if you can be trusted yet or not. Tevinter dealt me a very personal blow and many here have love friends and family because of it. I am assigning you to Vigil's Keep. Warden Commander Nathaniel Howe will take command of you. He's one of our top archers. He will assess your skills. Anders is our Mage Healer. He trains all Wardens in basic healing in case a mage healer is not present. He will assess your skills there and your potion making skills. If you have any issues with same sex relations, get over them now. I will not tolerate discrimination to anyone under my command for their choices."

Archer frowned in confusion, not certain he caught all that. His mouth opened with a statement he wished he could have swallowed, though. "And what about all of them and their discrimination of someone from Tevinter who genuinely wants to just serve out his life simply and die with dignity on his feet with a bow and killing darkspawn?"

"He has a point," offered the healer mage.

"Shut it Anders. I know. That's why I am giving him over to the Vigil. Beating discrimination out of the Anderfels will take me years."

Archer rubbed a temple again as now the whispering was joined by a pounding headache.

"Archer, that is your name right?" asked Aeden.

Archer nodded, "It is what they called me at Ansburg. I don't mind it." He did mind it, but it was better this way, to be an unknown.

"Fine. How long have you been on the road?"

Archer thought about Aeden's question and tried to puzzle out the time. "I think, almost two weeks."

"Maybe we can let him sleep and ask him more tomorrow when everyone has calmed and recuperated?" Zevran suggested as he slid from the desk and started to saunter back to Archer's side, shooing Carver away with a gesture.

"Take him to his room, then," agreed the First Warden. "Anders can check him out later." He motioned the Warden Commander to the desk and handed him the letter. "He's yours now."

Zevran guided Archer from the office and heard as the doors closed, "I want to know everything about him, and I mean everything. I don't want any surprises. Void, I'll even take him with us to Arlathan. If he is a problem, he won't come back alive."

Zevran smiled broadly as he walked, stretching his arms out wide. "My Aeden is a good man. I am sorry you stood through such a harrowing moment, but he needed to see who you were. And I think Carver likes you." He was rewarded with a new bit of information as he witnessed Archer shrugging up one shoulder and blushing. Zevrean chuckled. "There are a couple relationships here. Me and my Aeden. Anders and Fenris. It is ok if you have one, too."

Archer shook his head and recomposed. "No. No… it is… I… no. There is no procreation between two men. I have never. It would have gotten me either burned at the stake or handed over as a slave tithe."

"Well you don't have to worry about procreation here. Wardens can't anyhow, because of the taint." Zevran opened Archer's door.

Archer stood stock still in shock. "N-never? They can't even… ever?"

"Oh dear. No no no…. They can't have children, but they can definitely have sex. Shall I prove it?"

Archer nearly jumped with a small squeak, "No!" He fled into his room and yanked the door shut, leaving Zevran out in the hall to chuckle to himself.

Archer felt mortified. He hadn't ever had sex and for a moment thought he never would. But then realized that of course he never would. How long did he have left to live anyways. But the fact that some man was openly offering himself was just too strange. Way too strange! He wanted to hide under that Templar's shield again.

He tried to get some sleep, but his dreams were full of monsters and blood and images of horror. He woke screaming a couple times and decided to not sleep. He sat on the floor in the corner, wrapped in the blankets; sure he had finally gone completely mad. The sounds from his dreams still continued in his head as if he had not woken. He felt squeezed between things. Between dreams and nightmares. Between past and present. There was no future. The screaming continued behind his eyes and between his ears. He clamped his hands over them, but it did not help.

Hours later, Anders entered Archer's room with Fenris. He had knocked and then heard screaming and opened the door. In the corner sat the young man, blankets clutched white-knuckled around him and over his ears where he tried to smother unheard sounds. His eyes looked wild and wide with dark circles under them from lack of sleep. His lips peeled back in terror. "By the Void," breathed out Anders who handed the plate of late dinner to Fenris. He knelt before Archer and took the shaking hands from the young man's ears. "Easy now, talk to me."

Archer did not answer. When Fenris suggested speaking Tevinter and Anders tried it, then he got stuttered answers. Maddening whispering. Horrific visions. "M-make it go away… make it go away…"

"You are hearing the darkspawn. It gets easier to cope with if you can get some rest. Did they not tell you about this after your Joining?" asked the mage. Archer shook his head. "When was your Joining?"

"J-just before I left. The next morning, they… they sent me to come here."

Anders sighed heavily, "Andraste's knickerweasels." He pulled the young man up and to the bed. "Here, eat something. It will help ground you. I want to do a healing examination. Do you know what that is?"

"Yes, my mother… taught me… please… no magic. Please."

Fenris gave Anders a warning look as he handed over the plate of food. Anders agreed, "No magic. I can do this without any. Fenris?"

"I'll go tell Aedan and Nate." The tattooed elf left the room promising to return soon.

Anders smoothed Archer's sweat damp black hair away from his face and encouraged him to eat. "The whispering you hear are the darkspawn. It is rare that you understand their words. Sometimes it is loud and sometimes it is many. Here at Weisshaupt, it is both. The Deep Roads have been neglected while Tevinter blood mages had controlled the fort. You will learn way to meditate and cope, and how to discern what the noise means and when and how to ignore it without really ignoring it. Archer. You are not crazy." Those last four words were critical. For someone newly Joined and untrained what it would do to them, they needed to know this. "I hear it too."

"You… do?"

Anders nodded. "I do. All Wardens do. We just have learned how to handle it that you haven't yet. The dreams too, we all get them. And sometimes they wake us and we scream too. You are not alone. They really didn't tell you anything?" Archer shook his head. He looked like a small boy in a way with large bale blue eyes that were so frightened. Anders sat upon the bed next to him and put his arms around him while he nibbled.

After the food had been mostly eaten, Anders began the examination, checking for frostbite first and then any immediate wound. "Alright. You seem ok. Travelling here at the edge of winter is dangerous. You are lucky." He then searched his pouches for a vial of dark green liquid. "I think I am going to give you a sleep potion. It will be a fairly dreamless sleep and I think you…" He never finished.

Archer grabbed the vial, uncorked it and swallowed back the contents desperately. It took only a moment or two to hit him and his eyes sagged shut as his body went limp.

Anders caught him and eased him into the bed and tucked him in. "Poor kid."

"And I thought just the meeting would be a harrowing experience." Zevran stepped in through the opened door. "Don't look cross, Anders. You know we need to test his honesty. Aeden is furious with Ansburg right now. Fenris is off talking to Nate about this. I did not realize it would be this harrowing."

"Did you learn anything while you stood in the doorway watching us?" Because Anders knew he was there and knew he was studying every word, every vocal inflection, every expression and gesture.

Zevran casually and curiously perused every single belonging of Archer's. "He seems determined to be here and be a warden, but he isn't doing it for himself. Or he would have at least known to expect some things. He joined like a man willfully leaping from a cliff without concern for his life. And yet now he leapt, he is terrified, but not of dying. It is very interesting and leaves me with many puzzles and questions. He likes men, but has been forbidden that in his village. Also leaves me with many questions. I wonder what other things he is ignorant of. And he is genuinely ignorant. I test the theory. I think he was as scared of my sexual advance and interest as he was of being tortured slowly."

Zevran leaned over Anders shoulder to look down upon the sleeping man. "He is handsome. I think if he smiled he might even be cute. But he is a mystery. And what Ansburg did to him was an injustice. Thrusting him here in the middle of things. If he is a Tevinter spy, he is exceptionally good. He could be a sleeper spy. A trap waiting to be triggered."

"Like… a mage whose memory and abilities have been locked away till an appropriate time?" asked Anders.

"Exactly." Fenris entered with Nate. The tattooed elf continued, "It would not be unheard of. We'll watch him carefully."

Nate took over the watch of the new recruit for the rest of the night. Archer would need a great deal of advice and guidance once he woke.

* * *

A/N: I am not sure I like this chapter... I almost split it in two, but decided not to. I would rather dislike one chapter than two.


	5. Chapter 4: First Lessons

**Chapter 4: First Lessons**

Nate took over the watch of the new recruit for the rest of the night. Archer would need a great deal of advice and guidance once he woke.

Archer opened his eyes slowly, rousing from the first decent sleep he has had since his Joining. He made mental note to make lots of sleep aid potion for himself the very moment he can do so. He frowned as he realized someone was sitting on a stool beside his cot. "You are… Knight… uhm… Warden… Sir Howe? I am sorry; I do not recall the rank." He stumbled through the Fereldan language.

"Warden-Commander Nathaniel Howe. Call me by rank or by Nathaniel. Never Howe, and Nate is reserved for a few. I am your commanding officer. You belong to Vigil's Keep now. That means you answer to me and take my orders. Do you understand me?"

Nathaniel seemed stern, but not cruel. Firm would be a better word. Archer nodded and sat up. "You sat … v… w…" He struggled for the word.

"Vigil," supplied Nathaniel. "I kept watch over you to make sure you slept alright. I heard you received no lessons from Ansburg after your Joining." At Archer's shake of his head, Nate sighed. "Once you are dressed, I'll take you down for breakfast and to a meeting room. Merrill needs the same lessons. Her Joining was only a couple days ago." He stood and paused realizing his newest recruit would not likely know his way to food yet. "I'll wait outside."

As they walked through the halls, Nate attempted to sort out his new recruit. "I read the letter. You craft potions? Good. Anders could use help with that. He can also use help with the healing if you have a decent hand at it. He'll test you later today. Glad you brought your bow. I'll test your shot later too." This he said with a flicker of a grin. He favored the bow, too and welcomed someone new to shoot with. While Ansburg might be over-run with archers, Fereldan's Warden Keeps were starved of them.

Breakfast was simple enough, though the stares held some disdain and wariness. Archer accepted this. If he were them and betrayed by a bunch of people from another nation pretending to be friends, he figured he'd feel much the same. He kept his eyes down as if he walked among magisters and stayed close to Nathaniel. He only looked up as the people at his table engaged in conversation. His eyes tried to memorize the faces of his new companions. He tried to sort out names and voices and languages.

He was fairly certain Zevran was from Antiva and a Crow, or was. But he was not a Warden. He was also very open with his affections for everyone, especially the First Warden, Aeden. Anders was a mage and head healer, who also seemed to be the expert on languages and customs of the Anderfels. He too was open with his affections for a tense and broody dark skinned and tattooed elf. Archer was fairly certain the elf's name was Fenris. A play on words for the Dread Wolf. Nathaniel he now knew, too. The rest of the group was a mystery that could be worked out over time. The Templar that shielded him last night sat down at the far end, clearly looking like he felt as out of place as Archer did. Archer's eyes lingered longer than they should have. When the deeper blue eyes of the Templar met his, he looked away to see Zevran watching him with interest. Archer blushed despite himself. Where he was from, men do not show interest in other men. And yet, here were two coupled men in what seemed to be clear relationships.

After the meal, Archer followed Nathaniel to a room where two mages were setting up groups of benches. One was a lanky young mage light blond hair and the other was the tattooed elf girl that was labeled a blood mage. They were as inseparable as only a couple could be when they were newly in love. The larger group of benches was joined by a standing skeleton fitted together with wire and hung in front. Anderfels Wardens were shuffling in to sit on the benches as Anders and Fenris came to lecture them on healing techniques. Archer covered his mouth as he smirked for the students squirmed in clear discomfort at the skeleton.

"Over here, Archer." Nathaniel waved Archer over to the smaller group of benches.

He sat down with the tattooed elf, whose name turned out to be Merrill. Her new love was Christopher. He hung in the background till he was called over to help the healing introduction. Fenris thus escaped being the practice dummy and arrived to stand with Carver in the background. Archer glanced over his shoulder at the two brooding friends. They had to be friends. They seemed to know each other too well to be anything else.

"The Joining," began Nathaniel, "starts when you drink from the Cup of Joining. In it is a mix by oathbound secrets and magic of darkspawn blood."

"Will I learn that magic?" asked Merrill with her innocent curiosity.

Nathaniel nodded, "In time, likely you will. You need to be trained first. That secret is only taught after you have been with us a number of years."

"Can you die from drinking the potion? No one died in my Joining and we were four, but I got the feeling that was hit and miss." Archer felt that since Merrill asked the first question, he could ask the second one.

Nathaniel sat on the bench facing his two trainees and spoke softly so Carver would not overhear, "Yes, it's a flip of the coin if it kills you or not. That is why we do not tell people before the Joining. And yes you are tainted by the darkspawn blood after you drink it. The taint is held off at bay by the magic infused with it and the Cup. You will eventually succumb to the taint, but you have about thirty years before that happens."

Merrill sighed sadly as this was new to her.

"I am sorry Merrill. Archer, this does not seem to bother you."

Archer looked up and shook his head. "No. It does not. I said or I think I said that I joined so I may die with dignity with my bow in hand fighting darkspawn. I won't make it thirty years."

Nathaniel frowned, "It does not mean you should be reckless. Don't throw your life away. People are counting on you to live and help keep them alive. Around the thirty year mark, the taint starts to claim you. This we name The Calling, because the voices of the darkspawn grow very clear and you are drawn to meet with them. The taint will not change you as it does other people. The magic helps you keep your wits. But it will kill you."

"Healer Anders," Archer used the title for he thought he should and really wasn't sure what Anders' title should be. In Tevinter, there were many honorifics you had to use depending on who you spoke to and what the situation was. "Healer Anders told me the noise and whisper that has been maddening me and plaguing me even with nightmares is the voice of the darkspawn."

"This is true. Over the coming weeks, you will learn to harness that and channel it. You will learn to recognize the differences and how to cope. We all have different techniques. I won't be your only teacher in this." Nathaniel glanced at Fenris and Carver with a nod that it was agreeable for Carver to join the group now. "The darkspawn listen to a manifold collection of voices that are sometimes lead by a single stronger voice or arch demon. It isn't just voices. Sometimes you will have a feeling, a sense, of the darkspawn. It is a bit different for each person. Fenris? How is it for you?"

"Like a smell." Fenris had to be further prompted as he got sucked into helping teach when he was trying hard to avoid it. "I can smell the rot long before any other creature. It will even wake me. It is a smell very unique to the darkspawn. Anders gets moody. It hits him emotionally."

Nathaniel nods. "I get a sense, not quite a feeling but it is also accompanied by whispering."

"I feel like I am being watched and gets a sticky feeling on my fingers for no reason," Merrill mentioned. "Christopher told me that was how I sensed the darkspawn. The nightmares, though. They bothered me night before last."

Archer nodded vigorously.

Nathaniel calmly stated, "Yes, the nightmares are an unfortunate side effect. You want to pay attention to them. If your nightmares of the darkspawn are unclear, then they are far away or weak. If you get very clear nightmares with distinguishable voices or see dragons with the darkspawn, then you know an arch demon is involved and we need to hurry to prevent a Blight. Usually we have hordes. There are some hordes collecting in the underground here in the Anderfels. When you are ready, you will jon the team going out to thin the hordes or eliminate them."

Archer wanted to say he was ready now. Carver did it for him, "I can go along. I am good with a blade and need something to do while I am stuck here with the snow."

Nathaniel pursed his lips a moment. "No. You are not permitted. I am sorry Carver. I know you fight well…"

"But I am a Templar! I have other talents your Wardens do not have!"

"Carver!" It was not often that Nathaniel spoke loud enough to make everyone jump. Carver," he gentled his tone. "I know you want to help. But you have to be a Warden. Otherwise, you risk being tainted and dying. Unless you wish to go through the Joining and give up your post as a Templar of Kirkwall."

Carver sighed and Archer felt badly for him. Carver must be bored and lonely and feel so helpless.

"Being a Warden does have some ups to go with all these downs," explained Nathaniel. "Greater strength and stamina come with being a Warden. Higher constitution and deeper mana pool. You probably have started to see some of that already. If you haven't, you will. The body goes through some changes and the need to work it out is very strong." He glanced at Fenris who threw up his hands and stepped back as far as he could without leaving the room. "Some get a build-up of such energy that they need to vent it somehow. It manifests in a variety of ways from a need to fight to a need to fuck."

Merrill giggled and Archer and Carver both turned deep red.

"Find a safe outlet with people who can take it. Merrill, you will work it out with Christopher." Nathaniel made a note on a pad of paper he had with him.

She smiled ever so pleased with herself, "Oh, we have."

Carver snapped a look at her, "We don't need to know that Merrill!"

Archer buried his face in his hand in embarrassment.

"Archer, you are with me. We'll take it out on the range." Nathaniel figured that was safer and more comfortable for their newest addition to the Vigil's Wardens.

Fenris interjected, "Carver. Come spar with me." The two left gratefully.

Merrill joined the second healing class of the morning.

Archer, followed Nathaniel out to get geared up for shooting outside in the snow.


	6. Chapter 5: Adjusting

**Chapter 5: Adjusting**

Archer's hadn't realized he had counted day. But he had. It was four weeks and two days when he had pounded on the doors of Weisshaupt. Now it was five weeks and three days.

His routine still left him restless. Mornings from dawn till breakfast had him at the targets in the snow. Nathaniel drilled him hard and challenged his skills. Archer found he was not as good as Nathaniel or Deneru, but that only served to give him a goal. He needed a goal. Breakfast through lunch had him in the healing classes with Anders. He excelled there. He knew all the body parts, he knew how to mend bones and wounds. He knew it all enough to recite it by heart to the healer mage. But he refused to touch anyone. He refused to actually do any of the physical healing. He fled the room the first time Anders insisted and spent the rest of that day exhausting himself at the targets outside. Anders changed to having Archer craft potions in the mornings till lunch after that. He followed directions easily and without complaint, but Anders could see the building tension and energy. Archer needed an outlet soon or he would explode like a shaken Orlesian Champagne bottle.

Afternoons were open till dinner. Archer found these the most difficult to bear. Alone with his thoughts. Alone with his feelings. Alone with the nightmares of the night before. Alone with the roiling anguish and fury and needs he could not put reasons to. This got him into several small brawls with other Anderfels wardens. Sometimes it found him sitting with one Vigil's Keep warden or another learning meditation, concentration, channeling techniques. But they never seemed to satisfy the rush that made him want to scream and beat the walls, the irrational fight and flight coursing through him. Logically, he knew it was the changes his body was going through as it adjusted to being a Warden. Some called it the Fight, Flight, or Fuck time.

Fighting got him bruised and beaten by men bigger and stronger and far too pleased to oblige. They even sought him out in moments he thought he was alone. He could not bring himself to tell anyone. He was too embarrassed at his failing. He would simply craft potions silently and pocket some for private use in his room later. Anders had noticed, but let it go. Fenris was not much different after his joining after all.

Archer took to trying to run it off sometimes. Figuring he could use the Flight aspect. He would run outside along a designated track all afternoon till he practically dropped. Sometimes he was joined by other wardens. Anderfels Wardens would shoulder him off his feet and spit something at him in their guttural tongue. Sometimes one of the Vigil Wardens would run a bit with him, Fenris, Nathaniel, even Zevran. Not that Zevran was a Warden, but the elf seemed to keep tabs on him quite a bit. Sometimes Carver would run with him. Silent, brooding, and perhaps the most comfortable strong presence Archer found himself enjoying.

Carver. Archer could not stop the occasional look or the filthy burn you to the stake thoughts that came unbidden to his mind when he did look at Carver. Those thoughts even filled in his nights and wash out some of the nightmares. Archer started to avoid Carver. While he could just barely accept that Zevran and Aeden were a couple, and that Anders and Fenris were as well, the notion of himself fucking another guy terrified him. This had to be the Fuck side of the trinity of reactions. It was far more humiliating than being beaten up in a corner by one of those mountains they called men.

No, Archer was not adjusting well. Nothing seemed to sate the urges. Nothing seemed safe. Everything started to frustrate him into random and irrational reactions. Most sent him bolting outside with his bow. Six weeks and one day. How long was winter supposed to be up her in the Anderfels? Another three months? Archer had even forgotten his own impending death, the time limit he knew he was on. He shot poorly that morning, distracted by seeing Carver and Fenris sparring. He asked when he could join a team into the Deep Roads. Nathaniel told him not till he had adjusted fully to being a Warden.

No. Archer was not adjusting well. He was frustrated, twitchy, and emotional. He wondered constantly with paranoia if they still doubted him, if they still thought he was a spy for Tevinter. He finished at the last potion. Anders asked him to take it to the shelf and place it with the others. His did so, seeking over all the bottles for other like it. "The bottles are all marked. Just read the label and place it with the rest." Anders instruction was so simple. Or it would have been if everything was not written in a foreign language. Archer stared a long time growing more and more distressed and humiliated. This should be easy. He should be able to at least identify the similar symbols. "Archer?"

Archer dropped the bottle, which smashed upon the floor, "I… I can't!" He bolted.

"Archer! Wait!"

Archer ran hard through the halls, down the stairs to his room. He pulled on his coat and snatched his bow. He dashed through the side gates into the practice yard but was too angry to even string his bow. That served to infuriate him more. He yelled and struck his bow to the ground, then charged at one of the practice pells and beat at it with his bow as if he held a staff.

Anders winced at the slamming of the doors in Archer's wake. He cleaned up the wasted potion and sought Nathaniel to update him. He found him standing with Zevran watching out a window. They watched Archer rage at the pells. "Good thing that is a strong enchanted bow or it would not survive," Nathaniel commented as he nodded to Anders.

"I made a mistake," Anders spoke apologetically. "I triggered this one with my ignorance."

Zavran remained quiet as he watched below. He had nearly been run over by Archer in that blind run to get outside. So he grinned to himself as he had asked Carver to check on and maybe spar with the new recruit. Now he waited to see what would happen. Fight. Flight. Or Fuck. He was hoping for the third.

"Explain," demanded Nathaniel.

Anders sighed. "He knows his healing techniques. Knows them well enough that I don't think there is much I could teach him. He could probably teach the others. But he will not touch anyone. Not remotely, not to heal them. That had him fleeing from the clinic here a few days ago. I don't know why. But this time, I think I know what I did. He is decent at crafting potions and salves and such, but only if you give him the ingredients. He can't seem to find them on his own and can't shelve a bottle by its label. He tried so hard, but… I don't think he can read Trade Common, even though he seems to speak it fairly well now. That was my mistake to just assume he could read. I'll start teaching him reading… once he calms down."

Zevran turned away from the window. "Why don't we kill two birds with one arrow? Carver is driving people crazy because he is stuck here with nothing to do, He can read and write. Why not have him teach Archer?"

Anders looked skeptical. "Carver is not exactly teacher material. He is broody, as much so as Fenris. He is impatient and brash. I don't think it is a good idea."

"We'll have him start to join us in the evenings while we discuss matters. We can all have a hand in teaching him. He could also use people to talk to. I think is dreams are clearer than most of ours since he senses the darkspawn by sound and dreaming." Nathaniel focused on the fact that he had a new recruit.

"Will Aeden go for it?" Anders looked at Zevran. "I mean, we discuss sensitive matters sometimes. The eluvian, plans for Arlathan."

"Then this will be a good way to see what interests out potential spy," interjected Zevran. "He's been a terrible spy so far. I will speak to my Warden on this. Bring him this evening." He peeked out the window and smiled as Carver made an appearance in the yard.


	7. Chapter 7: Carver Steps In

**Chapter 6: Carver Steps In**

"Then this will be a good way to see what interests our potential spy," interjected Zevran. "He's been a terrible spy so far. I will speak to my Warden on this. Bring him this evening." He peeked out the window and smiled as Carver made an appearance in the yard.

Carver felt like the little brother all over again. These past few weeks kept him shunted away from any danger, treated like less than a recruit, ignored even sometimes. Fenris had been the only one who really paid him any real attention by sparring with him sometimes. But Fenris, like many of the Vigil's Keep Wardens were often deep in preparations for this stupid mission through the cursed eluvian to Arlathan of all places. Carver thought it was both foolish and a waste of time. But nothing he said had any sway here.

So much for all his hard work to escape being the "Hawke-ling". So much for the effort in fighting and climbing the Templar training ranks to earn his official knighthood, without his sister's help. So much for being trusted with… anything! Even his charge had been snatched right out from under him and made a Warden under other people's guard.

Sparring with Fenris only reminded him of the times he and Fenris had been close… even intimate. How much he had wished he said something to the elf of his feelings to solidify some relationship. But he was too unsure. Fenris had been too involved with Hawke and then was gone with Anders.

When he got his knighthood, Carver took charge of Merrill. She may have been a blood mage, but not once had she actually dabbled in it under his watch. The fact that she was constantly adorable and seemingly innocent, had wormed its way under his skin. He had leapt for the chance to travel alone with her to Fereldan on this in hopes that maybe he could muster himself up to express an interest. But he was too slow. She met Christopher, the Warden Mage training under Anders. Then she became a Warden to be with him. And Carver had once again lost out in his delay.

He wondered over and over what the hell made him always wait so long till it was too late.

And now there was this guy from Tevinter, also new and also as out of place as Carver felt. He sympathized, but would never voice it. His very first act when he had met this new arrival was to stand shield over him when the Anderfels Wardens practically attacked for no reason beyond discrimination. Fir the Maker's sake. Fenris was from Tevinter and not the enemy. Why did these mountain people have to assume the worst? There had been something so lost and desperate in that other man's eyes when he looked in them under the shield. It was brief, and then it was gone.

Carver had then tagged along some to a variety of lessons out of sheer boredom and at Fenris' suggestion. The rest of his time he practiced in the training yard. He learned a great deal about the Wardens. And although he brooded about his predicament of being trapped here through the long hard winter, he did quietly appreciate the new understanding he gained. Admittedly, he learned more here than he had as a Templar, even if he did not go into battle.

The Templars trained you in fighting. They taught the laws and prayers of the Chantry almost as if they were to become Brothers of the Chantry. That always gnawed annoyingly in Carver's atheistic belly. He pretended to be devout. He learned talents unique to the Templars that were exceptionally useful! He could fight a mage where each hit drew away some of the mages mana. He was resistant to spells, though not to blood magic. He could cleanse an area of spells. He could strike a Holy Smite on a mage, draining all his mana and sometimes even knocking the mage flat with spirit damage. The devout Templars seemed to be far better at these than he, but he could still manage it.

The part of being a Templar that irked him most, other than the religious mumbo-jumbo, was the lyrium powder. All Templars were given it to help them build up a resistance to magic. But it led to addiction to the stuff, which the Chantry controlled, thus controlling the Templars. Oh, and prolonged use eventually led to madness as did overdosing. Once Carver had obtained knighthood, he had started weaning himself off it. Here in Weisshaupt, he had no access. Last week, he fell to withdrawal symptoms that Anders and Fenris had helped him through.

Now he was forlorn. Now he questioned his loyalties. Now he had no fucking idea what he was going to do with his life. Now… he was trapped in stupid snowy mountains treated like a little brother, even by Fenris.

He stomped out into the practice yard to see the new guy, Archer, using his bow like a staff and almost mad blind with fury whacking the crap out of practice dummy. Carver didn't even bother to put on his helmet. He understood that this was one of those Warden Joining adjustment moments, according to the instructions. Flight, Fight, or Fuck. Well, Archer had been sticking to the Flight part for a while. Now Carver saw clearly Flight was not going to satisfy this time. He raised a brow at the unskilled beating the dummy was taking. He picked up a wooden practice sword, because he didn't want to damage the very fine bow Archer was currently abusing in his anger.

Archer seemed oblivious in his almost tear-streaked fury and private humiliation. He never saw Carver's approach. The wooden practice sword intercepted his strike half-way to the dummy. With an anguished yell, he turned to the new "foe" and whacked randomly.

Carver kept to the defensive. Normally he would just attack, but he wasn't in the mood today. It really wasn't worth it. Archer didn't have any real skill worth the sparring. So he offered himself as a more engaging moving target to tire Archer out. Carver's only mistake in this was Warden stamina. He had not realized how hard it would actually be to accomplish tiring out a new Warden and soon wondered and worried if he erred and would be tired out in turn.

In the back of his mind, he also wondered what trigger this Fight response. Was there even a trigger? Or was this just the reaction of adapting to the magic and darkspawn blood in the Warden as they adjust to becoming a full Warden. He wondered how long the adjustment process took. Archer was going on 4 or 5 weeks now if you counted the two weeks travel to get to Weisshaupt.

As it turned out, Carver did not have enough stamina to keep up and was grateful when Fenris simply stepped in to take over. Carver staggered and fell more often and finally dragged himself to a bench to watch for a while till he caught his breath. Fenris interjected instructions to Archer, in their mother tongue. So Carver guessed, anyways. Because Archer would suddenly make a change in the way he held the bow or in the way he stood or in the way he hit shortly following one of Fenris' quick verbal statements.

Archer did not outlast Fenris.

Carver, once again felt left out.

Fenris knocked Archer to the ground and commanded the match over. Then turned to Carver and nodded. "Well done. You," and he turned back to Archer, "And you, are expected in the Vigil's meeting room after dinner. Get yourselves cleaned up."

Only then did Archer realize he wasn't even dressed to be in the snow as the cold dampness started to seep into his backside. He stood, uncertain whether to thank Carver or apologize to him. He did both as he passed the warrior.


End file.
